#doctor abby

[sl-ut]

Pretending to be hurt or sick so abby takes care of you with those big ass muscles because my dramatic ass would do that

no bc same

it def starts out when she's actually hurt tho. if we're talking canon abby, i mean like in danger, hurt, and likely to die if abby wasn't there to save her poor ass

they're out on patrol and some infected come out of nowhere while they're in the midst of fighting some scars, coming up behind y/n and giving her literally just enough time to roll out of the way so the infected goes for the scar that was on just about to kill her instead.

she's already winded and pretty messed up from the scar, but her last-second somersault out of the way leaves her with a bum knee and what's likely to be a concussion. she's a little out of it, and the runner coming at her would have had the perfect opportunity to rip her to shreds if abby hadn't jumped in and snapped it in half, wasting no time in scooping up her girl and sprinting away to safety. when they get back to the arena, y/n is basically put on bedrest for weeks until she's better, which she though she would hate, but she was quickly reminded of how wonderful it is to be doted on by her hunky, caring, and oblivious girlfriend.

by the time she was able to lean a bit of weight on her knee again, she quickly realised that she missed having abby help her shower, holding her against her firm chest as she gently helped her wash her hair. she missed getting carried up and down the stairs in abby's big meaty arms like she weighed nothing. so, then she did the obvious, she faked another injury to give herself another week or so of abby's constant hovering, but then quickly came to regret it.

it never really occurred to her that their sex life would be so affected by it. when she was actually hurt, she did not have much of a sex drive to begin with, and when she did, abby was glad to get her off with her fingers whenever she needed. but now, she was better, and she wanted nothing more than to get absolutely plowedddddd, but poor oblivious, lovestruck abby still thought she was hurt, and would only give her no more than two fingers at a time. she quickly sped that up, but abby kept her at arms reach until she was finally "better", and finally gave her what she wanted a full eight weeks after the initial injury.

now if we're talking sweet cliches!abby, she's harder to trick. let's think for a sec, she's premed, so she's on top of y/n's care and maintenance while she's hurt, so she also knows exactly when her symptoms go from real to fake, but she thinks it's really cute and certainly doesn't mind getting to shower and feed and love on her gf all the time and keep her cooped up in her apartment all to herself and watch movies and do self care and cook and omgomg omg omg i love her smmmm i need a big beefy premed gf to take care of me and deal with my nonsense like where is she

[r3starttt]

DOCTOR! ABBY

doctor! Abby who met you on a late night shift because you both needed coffee. She saw you on the hospital's cafeteria, you had a different uniform so she couldn't take her eyes off of you because you weren't suppose to be there at all.

doctor! Abby who over heard your conversation with another coworker of yours just to know why you were here.

doctor! Abby who actuallly knew that coworker and got caught listening to your conversation with them. Who couldn't feel more embarrassed when they presented the two of you because she thought you would be mad or something.

doctor! Abby who thought you were really pretty since you turned around to greet her and it only made her feel more flushed because this couldn't be the first impression she would give to you.

doctor! Abby who wanted to insist but ended up being forced by the other coworker instead to pay for the three of you. And who specifically insisted to you to let her pay your order when you said it wasn’t necessary.

doctor! Abby who got excited when you ordered a black coffee because she'd never met someone else that liked their coffee like that. And who’s excitement disappeared once she noticed that you would actually order for more people.

doctor! Abby who let you know about much she liked black coffee and how surprised she was. Who after that would not stop talking to you.

doctor! Abby who was pretty good at small talk and flirting at the same time and wouldn't try to hide it.

doctor! Abby who ended up asking for your number in case you ever needed to come to her side of the building again for anything. And who insisted on personally bring you coffee if you ever needed.

doctor! Abby who ended up being making fun of by her coworker who was third-wheeling and who got all shy again because she hated how your first interaction was going.

doctor! Abby who offered to help you with your order because you'd bought drinks for other people and she didn’t wanted you to get hurt or anything. Who also wanted desperately to get rid of her coworkers.

doctor! Abby who asked what area were you working at even though she already knew, just to hear your voice and not let the conversation die so awkwardly. And who seemed interest at everything you said.

doctor! Abby who asked you if you usually worked at late night shifts and felt blessed when you told her that It was only tonight, to cover someone else that couldn't attend. Just like her.

doctor! Abby who saw how everyone looked at the two of you when you finally arrived to your area and felt a bit intimidated. Who wouldn't take her eyes off of you when you started to hand out all the drinks you've bought some minutes ago and tough you were so sweet.

doctor! Abby who left feeling like a teenager in love again and really hoped you wouldn't forget about her.

[strapathon]

i love this so much please continue this

currently thinking about....

doctor!abby who you meet for the first time when she’s covering the emergency room. you’re a patient, suffering from abdominal pain and a high fever. it’s pretty quiet, and it’s also three in the morning on a wednesday. late night shifts weren’t unfamiliar territory for her, she only had a few more hours left and she would be calling it a night.

doctor!abby who greets you with a soft smile as she glazes over your chart, before introducing herself. even with all the pain you’re in, you try your best to muster the courage to put on your best face, but you’re in pain and it’s evident.

doctor!abby tells you she wants to run a few more tests after you explain to her what brought you back in here. she tells the intern to notify her when your test results come back in. she believes it’s your appendix, inflamed and your symptoms masking themselves as a flu doesn’t help. it’s why the last hospital had missed it when you came in a week ago.

doctor!abby attempts to stir the thought of you from her mind. you're a patient. she's your doctor, and she'll be your surgeon if she's right about your prognosis. abby can't think about how you're extremely easy on the eyes. how your eyelashes compliment your eyes, accentuating the darling hue she could get lost in if she allowed herself. your voice floats over her heart like honey, sweetening her up at her very core. it's sickening how she wants to swallow every bit of it.

doctor!abby finds it a little hard to believe she feels this way just after one brief interaction with you. she prides herself on being professional, being distant enough from the patient. she has to be, her focus needs to be lasered when she's in the operating room. she can't think of how beautiful you are, how much she wants to flirt with you, and how she would if she'd met you anywhere but this godforsaken hospital. god has a special kind of torture for making you her patient. she can just be your surgeon. cut you open, patch you up, and send you back home. it's all she can do.

doctor!abby wants to uppercut this intern’s jaw. it’s really not their fault, but you’re undeniably in pain and they were attending to another patient before giving your results to the lab. but it’s more than clear with the results coming back, it’s your appendix and she’s sure at this point it’s ruptured. fresh tears spring to your eyes as she explains they need to get you into surgery right away, before any further damage can happen.

doctor!abby watches as you wipe your tears away, embarrassed you’re crying in front of the stupidly hot doctor. it’s mortifying, and you hated to be like this in front of anyone. abby’s expression is focused, cold even. she reassures you the intern is going to prep you for surgery, the weight in your shoulders drops, but the pain persistent.

doctor!abby who is elated when the surgery goes smoothly. you wake up several hours later with slight discomfort, but you’re recovering nicely. she was supposed to leave the hospital hours ago, but couldn't bring herself too. the thoughts of you coming out of anthesia after your surgery, telling her how gorgeous she is and how briliant she is to save your life.

doctor!abby who was thankful you wouldn't remember her cheeks flushed, dazed eyes and a stupid smile from your compliment alone — thankfully no one to see how unprofessional she was being. how her stupid, caring heart couldn't seem to control itself around you. she blamed your eyes. they were too easy to get fall for, making her get lost in nostalgia, as if she’d loved you in some past life.

doctor!abby who thinks about you even after you’re discharged. you’re home, healthy, and should be out of her mind but you’re not. your existence stretched into every thought of hers. god, maybe it’s impenetrable, rose-colored glasses affecting her judgement, but she wonder what it would be like to see you out of the walls of this hospital. she imagines picking you up for a first date, holding your hand sweetly even if she was nervous — god — she thinks about kissing you the most. she would savor every moment if you let her.

doctor!abby who happens to see you again at dina’s place or more accurately, you’re waiting in the pouring rain, downright soaked. lightning paints the skies, cracking thunder rumbles making you jump as your rubs your hands along your forearms trying to regain some warmth. she’s never been more thankful for her loud neighbor. of all the people in the seattle area dina could be friends with it’s you. the woman she can’t stop thinking about, the beautiful goddess she dreams about is within her reach and she’s definitely going to take advantage of it.

abby softly greets you not wanting to frighten you, declaration of her appearance known as she says your name eloquently. it’s the hot doctor, oh my god. oh my god.

“dr. anderson?” you question, a hint of a smile wanting to escape and abby takes note. your hair is wet, silky, hint of curls forming. drops of the rain flow over supple cheeks, falling over wet lips.

yet again, abby is reminded of just how beautiful you are. butterflies swarm the pit of her stomach at your excitement to see her. you’re surprised but you can’t stop looking at her. it’s a relief, the hope you might feel the same as her.

“please, just abby.” so distracted by her, domineering presence you noticed the umbrella she had, shielding you from the dreadful rain. but it really didn’t seem too terrible. not when she was in your company.

abby was shed of her white coat, only wearing navy blue scrubs and simple tennis shoes for comfort. biceps sculpted to the heavens, slightly wet from the rain which seemed to make them appear even more delicious. you want to eat her right up.

“i’m so confused. you live here?” abby gestures to the house right next door. “yeah, right next door.”

“i was just coming home and you looked…..wet.” abby silently cursed herself for being so goddamn awkward. it was worth it though, your small laugh an equal reward.

“if you want, you can come to mine. dry off, not get completely soaked while you wait for dina.” abby offers sweetly. “totally up to you, but my home is pretty damn cozy. warm too.”

the two of you are smiling like idiots. abby’s hoping you say yes and you’re thinking about how adorable she is, despite how physically terrifying she may appear.

“okay….yeah. i might be into that.”

“yeah?” abby’s voice changes, dropping into a tone you hadn’t heard before. it’s pure velvet and you want to feel it on your skin. you want to feel all of her. she leads the way as you stay under the umbrella, impossibly close to her as she protects you from the rain.

doctor!abby who gets you a change of dry clothes, a crewneck sweater and sweatpants. she can’t help but notice how adorable you look in her clothes. abby tries to do her best not to flirt with you as you’re sitting on her couch, but she fails. she’s asking normal questions, non-sequential small talk, but her hand is on your thigh. though the cotton is thick, her touch lights a fire between your thighs.

doctor!abby who nearly combusts when you start touching her arms, her shoulder, ghosting longer her thigh. but they find home elsewhere. fingers delicately smoothing over the end of her braid. abby can’t stop the way her heart stops, and then continues. the blonde strands wrap around your finger like a vice, clinging onto you as if it’s the sole purpose of existing.

doctor!abby who can see the ember shining in your eyes, the way you’re looking at her, like you might just eat her whole. fuck, she would let you too. she’d let you do whatever you want.

“i bet you look beautiful with your hair down.” you tell abby, inching forward, your thigh touching hers. “but you’re beautiful like this, too.”

“beautiful? me?” abby questioned as if it wasn’t obvious.

“don’t play dumb, dr. anderson.”

“i told you to call me ab—” her words just stop when you sling your left leg over, straddling her, grinding your hips just slightly before you fully press your weight on her. she sighs at the contact. feels s’good, having you this close.

wordlessly, you slowly undo her braid until every blond strand is free, her scalp thankful for it. abby moans as you run your fingers through her hair. your bring it over her shoulders on both sides, cradling her face in the palm of your hands.

“you really think you’re not? you’re going to sit here and pretend like you’re not the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen?” abby blushes, supple cheeks close to crimson, but she doesn’t look away.

“yeah, baby? you think so?”

“i know you are.”

abby lifts her hips cockily, smirking as the moan leaves your lips. all these layers, but being pressed up against her is doing something to you.

“i guess blonde doctors are your type then, huh?”

“only when they keep checking up on me when they didn’t have to.” your hands rest on her hips, as you lean into her, nose pressed against hers, lips ghosting over her very kissable ones.

“i was just doing my job, you know?”

“sure you were, dr. anderson.” abby grunts, aggravated you won’t just say her name again. she needs to hear it.

she can feel your breath on her lips, if she just moved slightly upwards, she’d be kissing you. she wants to, needs to.

“you want to kiss me.” your pupils dilate and your voice trembles.

“say my name and maybe i will.”

“so it’s that easy?”

“mhmmm, that easy.” abby hums, and her name is about to fall off your lips. tragically, dina walks through abby’s front door before you get the chance to. you’re not embarrassed to be found on abby’s lap, and dina knows it too. she just laughs and asks if you’re ready to go.

you whisper in abby’s ear before biting gently, “until next time, dr. anderson.”

an. omfg i actually like something i wrote???? wild.

[cordycepspog]

Laura Bailey, the voice of Abby in TLoU2, posing over the dead doctor is peak comedy everybody else go home

[aouiaa]

oneshot preview

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄’𝐒

❝ A WAVE OF EMOTION ❞

NOT JUST ANYONE’S, never truly understanding why your boss, dr. abigail “abby” anderson, harbors such animosity towards you. that is, until a moment initiated by the arrival of a newcomer to the team inadvertently triggers suppressed emotions to surface, revealing her true feelings.

FEATURING doctor!abby anderson x nurse!reader

THE ONESHOT CONTAINS (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up, (none of the content shown here is encouraged to be done irl and the photo below are for aesthetic purposes)

❝ CRASHING ONTO YOU AND I ❞

[seattlesellie]

dads best friend!abby scenario cause why the hell not.

cw: sexual themes mdni, age gap, abby’s a cocky but charming asshole, power dynamics-ish? : ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

— "Oh and honey? Doctor Anderson's coming over for dinner" Everything felt oppressively hot and everything felt impossibly tight. The food seared your tongue, humid steam rising from the vegetables on your plate causing your throat to constrict and your eyes to sting with tears. Your right hand was clenched in a tight fist, left hand gripping your fork like it might grow legs and run away if you let go of your grasp. Your tights were itching relentlessly, tank top strap kept sliding off of your shoulder and built itself a home down your arm. Your lipgloss felt too sticky and your palms too clammy, you felt agitated, uncomfortable and way too goddamn nervous.

You felt consumed.

You didn’t know why.

Sure, Doctor Anderson was attractive, with palms twice bigger than yours. She wore a tight fitted muscle tee that had you squinting then turning your head around fast enough to crack your neck, noticing a goddamn six pack poking through maroon fabric. And yeah, she had an intoxicating scent of pine and wood and a hint of pepper that made your eyes nearly roll back inside of your skull, voice silky smooth, thighs firm and muscular, eyes icy blue, a smile that made you melt and all that stupid jazz,

but none of these things were a good enough explanation to why you were feeling this way — dazed, stupid, all bothered.

She sat down on the dinner table’s leather chair in a manspread as if she owned the place, and her thighs bulked up even more, veins of her arms becoming more prominent. She always knew what to say, and when you cracked a joke about orthopedic surgeons she cheekily told you to “watch it” — which made you thickly gulp and sheepishly smile down to the floor like your idol from age thirteen just told you they want to marry you and have you forever.

You needed an ice bath, but she also wouldn’t stop goddamn looking at you, even when you made it clear that eye contact with the surgeon, your father’s best friend, was a task that you apparently couldn’t manage to complete.

Her look made you nervous, and when she narrowed her eyes you nearly choked on a carrot, and when your father asked you “What’s wrong, kid?” you couldn’t even answer because what was wrong — was that you had to cross your legs together cause of some aching down there, and what was wrong is that his best friend made you feel like you were losing your mind at 9pm with a fork glued to your palm.

So you lied.

“M’just... tired, I guess” you murmured, then fake yawned, then internally cringed at yourself for performing the worlds fakest goddamn yawn.

“Already?” he voiced, shifting his gaze towards a visibly amused Abby. “Quite the night owl, that one... usually”

"What can I say, dad, loooong day" answered you, with a syrupy voice she wanted to stick her fingers inside and lick.

Abby chuckled, then smirked at you even though the response wasn’t directed at her. Then, she looked over to your father who was gnawing on some overcooked steak.

“She’s a kid, needs to get her sleep”

You scoffed, which made doctor Anderson poke the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “What...?” she murmured cockily, cracking a toothy grin. Your tights felt tight again, glued to your hot flesh, then you realized why they fucking call them tights because dammit they really are tight.

“I'm not a kid, can, y’know... drink, and stuff. Plus... M'busy, with... College"

You sounded like a damn idiot. All Abby did was chuckle and tilt her head back slightly, leaning further back in her chair.

“T'aw, I know, What'ryou studying again? Fashion science?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. That bitch.

"Sorry I don't wanna go to medical school and spend seven years of my life sticking my hands down a corpse"

So you didn’t go to your room after that, caught up in a whirlwind of proving a point. You stayed stubbornly with your feet glued to the floor and listened to Abby and your father ramble and yap on about work shenanigans. Usually, you’d semi doze off at this point, go on your phone and occasionally throw a snarky remark, but this was different. She was different than any of his other friends. Abby was actually funny, she didn’t brag too much, and if she did it faded quick cause she really was that good.

Abby threw a reference to a book you thought no one else had read except for you. You timidly lifted your gaze and remarked, “Oh, i read that book, actually”

Abby smiled and flattened her hands on the wooden table. “Smart cookie, huh? Did you like it?”

You batted your eyelashes like a kitten seeking more strokes at the praise, not noticing that body language of yours.

But she did.

You talked about the book for a solid ten minutes. Your father was the one, surprisingly, to go on his phone and faux-snort when he felt excluded from the conversation ran by two intellectuals and a giant elephant who goes by the name of "Tension", in the middle of the room.

Abby made you laugh and she made you think and she listened to your anecdotes. It made you buzz with electricity, and it made you yearn for her attention.

it also made her long for yours.

Your father interrupted by showing Abby a picture from work. When her eyes lowered to his phone, she shot you a lingering gaze and a smirk. You, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks, shyly looked away.

It was tight everywhere all over again.

So they talked more about work, Abby’s patients, their coworkers, Doctor Martha’s chicken pot pie, Doctor Johnson’s bizarre antics, the glass door no one bothered on calling to be fixed, blah blah blah, an endless stream of chatter.

And you listened, you listened with rapt attention, every ounce of your focus aimed at the prospect of another one-on-one conversation with Abby. Each time the older woman casted you with a quick glance, you flushed even harder. You waited, and waited and waited but your father was a blabber mouth, and you were oh so impatient,

you began mindlessly kicking the wooden table's legs.

Your sock-covered feet shifted restlessly from side to side, then you tucked them beneath your chair and resumed kicking, the movements gaining force. You curled your toes and continued to play with the table's handles. Abby winced, but you didn’t pay her any mind. You kicked again, with more force now.

You sighed.

Abby cleared her throat, and her cheeks suddenly bore a faint crimson blush. You couldn't help but notice, hm, must be the red wine finally catching on to her form. Ignoring, you kicked again, and the doctors back straightened and she stiffened in response. Your father asked her a question, and Abby… stammered.

“Yeah, that guys… uh— yeah”

You rested your chin on your hands and lightly tapped your fingertips against your cheeks thrice.

Then you kicked again, harder, you were bored and restless, waiting, give me some attention, Abby —

And then, you felt a pair of shoes encase your feet, ankles creating a cage around yours. It was then and only then that you had the startling realization: you hadn't been kicking the table at all. Instead, you had been unknowingly engaged in a game of footsies beneath the table with a goddamn world class surgeon.

And oh god did you want to die.

And oh god did abby sport a shit eating grin on her face that only you seemed to catch.

You froze, not even able to release your feet from her iron like grip. Unmistakably, she didn’t seem to release her grip either. So she kept them there, caged and locked.

“Alright,” your father sighed and cleared his throat. “Got some cuban cigars in the yard, shall we?” he gestured towards Abby, who was still holding your feet in her tight grasp.

“Yeah, go ‘head, I’ll just clear the table” she murmured absentmindedly. So kind and polite, huh?

You father chuckled and tapped abby on her shoulder, as he rose from his sit and straightened his back. “Nah, let the kid handle it”

Abby shot you a glance. Your pupils were dilated and your chest heaved rapidly up and down.

“She's not a kid, remember?”

Abby let go of your feet and you rose from the chair with such haste, you nearly had whiplash. When you lifted your plate, staying mute, looking like a deer caught in headlights as your father paced towards the yard, Abby gazed at you, and her eyebrow arched up in utter amusement.

“You uh, play soccer, by any chance?” quipped her, crossing her arms on her firm hard muscly chest.

You gulped.

“Huh?”

Abby lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a sip that left a glistening sheen on her bottom lip. A chuckle escaped her.

“Jus’, y’know… with all the kicking, and everything. I mean, take a girl out for a drink before you do all that, yeah?”

You stood in shock, you didn’t speak, didn’t mutter a word, merely humming in response. Abby grabbed the plates from your hand, and then she grabbed the salt.

She furrowed her eyebrows and huffed. “M'just ’joking, smart cookie. If you wanna play, let's play"

Then you heard your father’s voice down the hall.

“Sweetheart?” he paced closer as Abby walked towards the sink. He leaned over the wall,

“forgot to mention it to you but, Abby’s staying over for the weekend”

[seraphicsentences]

doctor!abby anderson listening to your heartbeat while making out with you. bc it’d be a fun little game for her. that’s all! (this was written in a rush leave me alone).

abby squeezed your thigh harder, gasping into your hair as you bit the spot beneath her ear, only to soothe it a second later with the warm drag of your tongue.

“look so fuckin’ good in your scrubs, abby, my smart girl,” you whine, almost pouting at how unfair it was for abby to look this hot after a long day at work.

hah she laughs, “you like me in teal, baby? with these old glasses? this stethoscope’s getting you hot, huh?” she teases, a hand dipping below your chin to gently tilt your head upwards.

“oh shut up, abby,” you roll your eyes, smushing your lips against hers as you draw her body closer between your legs.

you brace one of your hands on the desk you’re seated upon, catching your weight as abby practically drinks you in, tongue licking into the back your throat and dragging a groan out of you.

you gasp at the cold feel of metal on your chest, breaking the kiss for a moment, only for abby to press her needy mouth back onto yours immediately.

“wha-?” you question, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, but body effectively distracted by whatever the fuck abby’s doing with her tongue around your own.

mmm abby hums in response, her arms shifting to maneuver something up to her ear.

“you’re at about 108 beats per minute, sweetheart. something riling you up?” abby mumbles against your mouth, haughty smirk gracing her pretty pink lips.

the glasses on her head are askew, golden braid half fallen out, shirt scrunched down on one shoulder, stethoscope in one of her ears, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than this.

her big hand shifts the diaphragm against your chest again, calloused thumb teasing over your nipple— making your breath catch— before pausing at another spot.

“116 now, looks like somethin’s really got to you, huh?

“abby-“ you breathlessly whisper, heart thumping in anticipation as she draws her other hand higher up your thigh, just barely brushing over (your other heartbeat) the pulsing place you need her most.

“wanna see how fast i can get your heart going?”

[zombholic]

DOCTOR ABBY’S KINKS - smut

- with how old abby is you expected her to be somewhat vanilla in bed, fuck she proved you wrong.

- she loves pinning you face down onto the pillow, one hand pinning your wrists behind your back and the other holding onto the back of you neck. hearing your muffled whines and religious repeats of her name drives her mad.

- she uses the fact that shes so much bigger than you to her dirty advantages, she wraps her arms around your thighs while shes face deep into your soaking cunt.

- with how big she is she also needs to have a big strap, deep purple 8.5 inch strap that she calls her “cock” like it’s attached to her and she makes sure that you take all of it.

- when you act bratty she’ll make you ride her cock, hands behind her head as she amusingly watches you whine and tire yourself out from all the work.

“what’s with the attitude baby?” she grabbed your face tightly between her hand, squishing your cheeks so hard it left a red mark outlining it “you were texting me all sorts of dirty shit while i was at work, sending me videos too? while i was busy doing something that your stupid little brain can’t handle hm?” she slowly starts thrusting up into your aching cunt.

moans slipping out your lips, she grabs your ass with both her hands and starts drilling you apart “ab- abby ohmyfuck” your head fell into the crook of her neck.

- she loves when you suck her cock, doesn’t matter if she can’t get pleasure out of it, just seeing you on your knees gasping for air while you look up at her with your big doe eyes does something to her.

[eightstarr]

visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable. 

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it—  you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”

[elsblunt]

hurt reader in the hospital. doctor!abby

you had been trying to cook the whole day, trying to prepare a good meal for abby and you. you felt as if you didn’t do enough you should’ve, like you weren’t contributing.

the oven was at a very high temperature as you took out the roasted foods, smiling at the sight of it. but of course you had to screw it up. bumping your arm onto one of the hottest pieces of metal, you yelped. “fuck!”

that’s what got you sitting in one of the burn units, bandage wrapped around your arm. “that was a bad burn, could’ve gotten bad if you didn’t show up. let me go grab the stuff you gotta take home, okay?” the nurse walked out.

while the lady in scrubs walked around and grabbed a tiny bottle of medicine and some wrap, she saw abby in her office. the nurse peeked in, “hey, your girls in the burn unit. room 302, if you wanted to know.”

abby didn’t care to hear if it was horrible or not at that moment, she was just afraid of her girlfriend being hurt. she rushed down to the unit, bursting through the door. praying you weren’t laying on the bed with like— burns around your body or anything.

“my god! what were you doing?” the blonde scoffed and grabbed your arm, scanning over the bandage that was wrapped around the skin. she was relieved it wasn’t severe, but also not.

you laughed slightly at her protectiveness. “just trying to cook us dinner. it looks really good! i packed it up before i left—“ she cut you off, looking at her girl with furrowed brows.

“thank you, but god you’re not allowed near the kitchen again.” your jaw dropped in offense. “hey! i just.. lightly grazed my arm against the oven.”

“yeah, look what that earned you, a fuckin’ fourth degree burn. gosh..” you laughed at her over dramatic statement.

“it’s actually second but—“

“shut up.”

if u have sent a request i’m probably working on it! i’m so sorry for not posting guys ill get to it soon, im just really busy. also inspired by zombholic!

[writerseclipse1]

✎ doctor!abby headcanons ✎

she would definitely be a heart surgeon or a cardiothoracic surgeon to be more exact. she would have the steadiest hands known in all of seattle. a very notable and arguably the best surgeon in all of seattle’s finest hospitals but most especially in washington general hospital.

she likes her coffee black, sometimes with a hint of sugar but that’s for the shorter days. for her night shifts, black coffee keeps her awake until the most outrageous times in the night.

she would first meet you, a medtech who works in the same hospital, during one of her night shifts. you would be typing away at your computer, analyzing data samples for other doctor, heaving a sigh as you sipped on your fourth coffee of the day.

she never noticed you before, mainly because she worked on the west side of the building. but since nora, the medtech assigned to the west building wasn’t clocked in, she had no choice but to resort to going all the way to the east building to find the other medtech.

“hey,” she said suddenly, making you jump in your seat. when you turned around, you saw her in all her glory, standing there with her white coat on and her blue scrubs. “can you analyze these samples for me? need them done by tonight, really urgent.”

you had rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about how “medtechs are really underappreciated” and “a good evening would’ve sufficed” but you took the samples from her anyway, putting it in your machine as you crossed your arms over your chest, sipping on your coffee.

“i’m sorry, are you new here? i don’t think i’ve seen you before.” she asked, watching as you looked at her from above the rim of your cup.

you told her your name and when she tilted her head at you, you knew she’s never heard of you. “i don’t expect some hotshot surgeon knowing about me honestly. i just kind of come and go. i do my job and i leave, that’s it.” you shrugged as she nodded along.

“well, for the sake of an introduction,” she stepped forward into the dim lighting of the room and you could make out her muscles bulging out of her white coat, her right hand outstretched to shake yours. “i’m dr. anderson.”

you shook hands and made some small talk. she found out that you lived alone in a nice apartment, you’re thinking of getting a pet, and you really like music. you found out she has a dog, her dad used to be a neurosurgeon, she went to the gym more often that not (not that you needed her confirmation to know), and that she used to live in salt lake city.

“what made you move?” she chuckled at your question, her eyes darting to the machine as it beeped, showing the green light that the results were ready. but she wasn’t ready to leave the conversation just yet.

“my dad had to find a new place to work. i don’t really know what happened, i just know that whatever did, we had to move because of it.” she shrugged as you nodded along, placing your cup of coffee on your table and you turned around, taking the results and giving it to her.

“well, it was nice meeting you, dr. anderson.” you mused, sending her a wink as you got your cup of coffee again, watching the smoke lift up into the air. she chuckled lightly, looking at you with a curious grin

“abby. call me abby.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: was supposed to be writing my tess s. x reader but then i got distracted while looking for nice pictures for the header so here's doctor!abby hcs

[sl-ut]

i 💚 this series smmmmm

Six types of love

Masterlist

Summary: Abby’s a surgeon you’re a psychiatrist, working on two different areas and at the opposite sides of the huge hospital you never thought it’ll work. But since she saw you she couldn’t take you out of her mind, so she’ll prove to you in all possible ways how much she likes you and how much you should give her a chance.

a/n: they’ll be short chapters, each of them based on a different type of love. Reblogs and comments are super appreciated. hope u enjoy this series as much as I did <3

lmk if you wanna be tagged ;)

pinterest board | moodboard | hc’s

01 | Mania

obsessive love; experience great emotional highs and lows

02 | Ludus

a love that is played as a game or sport; conquest; may have multiple partners at once

03 | Pragma

love that is driven by the head, not the heart

04 | Eros

a passionate physical and emotional love based on aesthetic; enjoyment

05 | Storge

an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship, based on similarity

06 | Agape

selfless altruistic love; spiritual

[pubbybutch]

oh to be Abby’s sweet little trophy wife that flaunts around in lingerie while she working from home🙇‍♀️😫 like imagine walking by her office and abby goes “doing this to be a brat or what?” Then reader is like “I wear things like this all the time” and shrugs innocently AHHHHHH

YES ANON!!! Abby is a breadwinner. Provider. Mother. 😤

I feel like she loves being able to treat her wife to little presents and wants to do nothing but look after her. Any of the lingerie that you own, has either been bought by or bought for Abby. But let’s be real, it's for both of you cause when she see your ass hanging out from underneath that little blue babydoll she got for you last month - it’s over.

Even though Abby gets a Friday to work from home Abby would spend hours upon hours trapped in her office, on the phone to patients or other staff from her practice trying to approve surgeries or trying to get prescriptions processed if she could manage. Everyday at 1, you’d bring her lunch to her office and kiss her on her wrinkled little forehead, stress and pressure causing deep lines on her beautiful face. On this particular Friday, it would be business as usual. Blonde hair fuzzy from running her hands through it, laptop open and phone held against her ear. Keeping an ear to the closed door and hearing her set down the phone with an exhausted sigh, you put your plan into action. Pushing the door open plate in one hand, ice tea in the other, you kiss her on the crown of her head as she stays sat in the swivel chair. The pastel pink lace and chiffon adorning your body, sways a little as you move around her and set up the plate of beef and noodles in front of her. As you do so her blue eyes take in the view of you slightly bent over, smile on your face. Light makeup and cherried lips, you’re like a walking wet dream. As you move back out around the desk and towards the door, Abby grabs you by the hand and pulls you down into her lap, “nuh-uh, baby. Walking around like a fucking meal, and you expect me to eat that instead of you?”

Also I feel like Abby is really into kitchen sex and idk why. The cold marble countertops that give you goosebumps when she lifts you on to them, her hands sneaking round to cup your cunt as you’re standing at the stove cooking dinner. All the shenanigans that come with fucking in a kitchen.

Abby has a thing for those kinds of lingerie sets that aren’t just straps and frills, she likes the ones that sort of cover you up and make you look all pretty and dainty, her very own princess. Babydolls and teddy sets are her go-to’s. She’s especially fond of pastels and how soft they make you look. And as much as she teases you for wearing them for her, it's mildly disappointing for her when she comes back home and sees you in what she has dubbed ‘people clothes’. Like you’re hers, why do you have to go and do things, and why do you need to be seen by other people, why do you have to do that job? Because you live in a capitalist hellscape and junior surgeons aren’t paid enough.

She still has her old letterman jacket from senior year of high school, it’s big and oversized with ‘Anderson’ stitched across the back, and boy does she love seeing you in frilly blue lace and cotton. All that’s really covering you from her wandering eyes is something with her name on it. You’re hers. Her pretty little wife.

[pinkygirliee]

i need more doctor abby fics 😭😭😭😭

[ohcaptains]

k but what about doctor!abby with a scientist!wife . yall would be rich rich !! n maybe you have a job that is pretty flexible so you can work from home and spend your free time with abs while she’s on her break <3

FUCK!!’ yeS ANON!!!

you’re a scientist in the hospital so you both go to work together and say goodbye in the lobby. like abby kissing ur forehead goodbye 😳 and sometimes you pass each other in the hallways and abby always tries to stay professional so it’s usually a warm smile or a cute wave.

when she’s stressed you can tell because that’s when she’ll talk to you. gently pull you to the side and just blurt stuff at you and then be like, okay, i gotta go, and you get it. she just needed to say the words to somebody !!!!

and you work in research or the lab and when people always bad mouth you she gets furious, like what did you say about my wife’s lab !!!!

spending breaks together omg omg. all the new doctors watch you two interact because they’re totally obsessed with your dynamic. mostly because doctor anderson is a total hard ass. she’s strict and doesn’t take anyone’s shit, so they’re soooo confused as to how you make her smile so big !!!

you literally forcing her to take a lunch😡 if she’s not there in the cafeteria, you’re storming to her office like, where is she !!! you’re the keeper of the lunches because she won’t eat it otherwise !!!